


Ghost

by penny



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 02:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penny/pseuds/penny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy stops smoking after the war. Maes doesn't comment on that. He doesn't comment on most of the small (only not) changes, saves what he has to say for the big things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> For the Porn Battle IX prompt _Hughes/Roy, cigarettes, smudges_

Roy stops smoking after the war. Maes doesn't comment on that. He doesn't comment on most of the small (only not) changes, saves what he has to say for the big things. Like Roy shutting himself in his apartment for days, not sleeping, not eating, not even drinking (and he's does more than enough of that since coming back), just sitting and pouring over every alchemy text he can get his hands on.

Maes knows just enough about alchemy (and more than enough about Roy) to know _that's_ dangerous. So he asks Gracia to bake him an apple pie (and bless her, she understands him enough, loves him enough, to make him promise he'll get Roy cleaned up and drag him to dinner, because isn't it time she meets this best friend?) and uses it to get past Roy's front door.

It's worse than he feared. There are arrays all over the floor and walls, the oldest (at least, he assumes they're the oldest) made from smudged chalk. The rest are drawn in blood.

"Pig's blood," Roy says with a tired smile. He looks like he's still back in the desert, his face gaunt, the skin beneath his eyes purple with fatigue. His white shirt is wrinkled, and there's a dab of blood staining his left cuff.

"Goddamn it, Roy!" He gets a fist in Roy's shirt (and tries not to notice how _thin_ he is beneath it) and slams him back against the wall. "What the fuck are you thinking?"

Roy tries to smile. "A fuck out of you? I must be in trouble."

"This isn't a joke." He slams Roy against the wall again, winces when Roy chokes out a dry laugh.

"Of course it's a joke. The blackest one there is."

Fuck. He releases Roy. "Eat the pie. I'll clean this up." He's too tired to decipher the look Roy gives him.

Roy sits at the desk and picks at the pie. Maes is afraid Roy's too far gone to even eat (and that's a really bad sign). But when he emerges from the kitchen alcove with a bucket of warm, soapy water and a sponge, Roy's eating, though he doesn't seem to be tasting the pie (and that's a shame, because Gracia makes amazing apple pie).

"Do you know how many people I killed?" Roy asks after about a half hour. Maes has made good progress, but some of the blood arrays are stubborn, and he still hasn't gotten to Roy's corner of the room. "Not just men, but women and children."

Maes doesn't look up from scrubbing. "If you're so torn up about it, hand in that watch. Walk away from being the Flame Alchemist."

"I can't do that, Maes." He pushes away the pie and reaches for a bottle.

Maes rises and crosses the room to take it from him. "That's right, and you can't do this," he gestures towards the arrays he hasn't wiped clean, "unless you want to forget about going to the top. And if you do, tell me now, Roy, so I don't _waste my fucking time_ supporting you from below."

Roy blinks up at him, and for a moment, Maes fears he's pushed a little too hard. But then Roy smiles again, and it's almost a smirk, so apparently, hard is what he needs. "Another fuck, Maes? I _am_ in trouble."

"So much that the only way you can crawl out of it is to come over for dinner. Gracia's --"

Roy flinches. "Not tonight."

"I was going to say Gracia is working tonight. Tomorrow." He hauls Roy to his feet. "After you shower. And after we wash your clothes. You stink."

"Maes..."

"You have to meet her sometime, Roy."

"Sometime." Roy's fingers tangle in Maes's shirt. The kiss isn't really a surprise, but Maes startles like it is. Roy's mouth is sour beneath the cinnamon-sweet taste of Gracia's pie.

Maes doesn't let him slide away. "You need to brush your teeth, too, Roy," he says, moving with Roy as he pulls back. He knows why Roy's not meeting his eyes. "And you need to stop feeling so guilty. I'm a big boy, more than capable of kicking your scrawny ass if you try anything I don't like."

"And Gracia?"

"She's a big girl, more than capable of kicking _my_ scrawny ass if I try anything she doesn't like."

There, a real smile. Maes pushes Roy back, initiates an aggressive kiss this time, one that proves his point. _Tell me what you want, Roy. Tell me how to support you._ And Roy answers. His fingers are steady and sure as he unbuttons Maes's shirt and hauls him closer.

"Maes," he moans in that low and thready voice that makes heat spike down Maes's spine. Maes shudders. This is too much like the desert. All that's missing is the sand and smoke, the curl of ash from a half-smoked cigarette burning itself out. Roy's touch is sure (he always knows what he wants) but light, like he's a ghost, and maybe he is.

Maes pushes that thought away. Instead, he makes his touch firm. He sinks to his knees, bites Roy, marks him, leaves a hickey on his inner thigh, does everything he can to ground Roy in the here and now.

Maes takes him deep. Roy's hipbones are sharp beneath his palms. Maes moans around Roy's cock and focuses on the feel of it, because it, at least, hasn't changed.

"Maes." Roy's fingers tighten in his hair. "Maes." He hisses and comes, and it's bitter and thick.

Maes draws back. His lips feel swollen, and he's painfully hard. Roy's fingers are still in his hair, and Roy still refuses to meet his eyes. Maes ducks out from under Roy's hand and rises. "You need a shower, Roy." He grabs Roy's hand and brings it to his groin. "And I need help with this."

Roy finally meets his eyes. "Fair enough."


End file.
